BURGOYNE.
Ah, indeed. I am sorry. Good morning, Mr. Dudgeon. Good morning, madam.
RICHARD.
(interrupting Judith almost fiercely as she is about to make some wild appeal, and taking her arm resolutely). Not one word more. Come.
She looks imploringly at him, but is overborne by his determination. They are marched out by the four soldiers: the sergeant, very sulky, walking between Swindon and Richard, whom he watches as if he were a dangerous animal.
BURGOYNE.
Gentlemen: we need not detain you. Major Swindon: a word with you. (The officers go out. Burgoyne waits with unruffled serenity until the last of them disappears. Then he becomes very grave, and addresses Swindon for the first time without his title.) Swindon: do you know what this is (showing him the letter)?
SWINDON.
What?
BURGOYNE.
A demand for a safe-conduct for an officer of their militia to come here and arrange terms with us.
SWINDON.
Oh, they are giving in.
BURGOYNE.
They add that they are sending the man who raised Springtown last night and drove us out; so that we may know that we are dealing with an officer of importance.
SWINDON.
Pooh!
BURGOYNE.
He will be fully empowered to arrange the terms of—guess what.